Page 10 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

“And you wouldn’t like that?” Blackout asks, stroking a hand up my neck to cup it lightly. His thumb rests softly over my pulse.“Or are you worried you might? I don’t think you’re as shocked by all this as you pretend to be.”

A tiny whimper slips out.

Dragon steps in front of me, filling my view with nothing but him. His expression is guarded, like he isn’t quite sure what to think of me. “I’ll ask one more time. Why’d you come here tonight, Willow? What were you looking for? That’s a pretty dress.” He trails the back of his fingers over my bare chest, just above the scoop neckline that dips low enough to show off some cleavage. “Did you wear it for us?”

Telling them that I came up here to complain about the noise seems stupid. And is it even true? Sure I was feeling frustrated and annoyed, but deep down, listening to their party from alone in my house sounded different when it wasn’t just nameless, faceless men up here. I could imagine the three of them enjoying themselves and it felt… different.

I felt left out.

But what I say is, “It’s my birthday.”

Dragon’s head jerks. I don’t think that was what he expected to hear. “And you were all on your own? You got dressed up for us?”

“No! Oh my God! That’s not what I—” Crap. Does that sound rude? I shake my head and laugh nervously. “I had dinner with my friends, but they called it a night.”

“So early? No wonder you wanted to party. You’re way too sober for a birthday.” Blackout takes my hand and leads me through the crowd at the altar and to the back of the church where the bar is set up. He pulls out four shot glasses—none of which match—and grabs a bottle of whiskey, pouring generously. “How old are you, honey?”

“Twenty-four.” I reach for a shot glass but he holds it away.

Skyhigh puts his fingers between his lips and whistles loud enough to be heard over the music and general roar of the party. “We got a fucking birthday girl here!”

The whole room looks up. Even the guy whose face was buried between the stripper’s legs. A cheer goes up, followed by people chanting. “Shot, shot, shot!”

“You want to do this the normal way, or the fun way?” Blackout asks.

I know they are going to think I’m lame if I say normal, but I’m afraid of what guys like them mean by fun. In my experience, it usually ends up being something everyone but me thinks is funny.

Dragon leans down and brushes my hair away from my ear to whisper. “Trust us.”

The fact that it’s Dragon saying it makes me pause. There are a hundred ways I wouldn’t trust them, mostly involving following the law, but in this case I nod. “Okay, what’s the fun way?”

“Pick one of us.”

I point at Dragon. “You.”

“Me?” He seems surprised in spite of being the one that told me to trust them.

I nod. Out of the three of them, he seems like one that is least likely to tease me.

“Alright.” Eyes on me, he falls to his knees and takes a glass from Blackout. Tipping back his head, he places the glass between his lips and waits. Ink curls up from under his shirt collar, stretched over the scar on his neck and disappears into his dark beard.

Heart pumping overtime, I swallow. “What do I do?”

Skyhigh guides me so I’m right in front of Dragon. “Wrap your lips around the glass like you’re going to kiss him, then stand up with it, taking the shot without touching the glass until you’re done.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I say quietly enough that hopefully only they will hear me.

Blackout grins. “Don’t overthink it. It’s a fucking party. Wouldn’t be the first booze to hit the floor in here.”

Right. Don’t overthink it. Hah! Overthink should’ve been my middle name. It’s just a shot. Think of it as book research.

I lean forward, very aware that maybe not the whole room, but a bunch of people are still watching. Dragon’s eyes are closed at the start, but they open when I’m close enough to smell the whiskey and the scent of his skin. Having a man like him on his knees waiting for me to do my part makes me feel a little powerful.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

I open my lips and wrap them quickly around the edge of the small glass. My hair falls down around us and my nose brushes his. For a brief moment, it’s only the two of us, and then I stand up before I can chicken out. The whiskey burns over my tongue and down my throat. I almost manage to do it cleanly, but at thelast second I can’t hold back the cough and have to desperately grab the glass out of my mouth to keep from spraying everyone.

Cheers go up all around us. Nobody seems to care that my eyes are watering and there’s whiskey dripping down my chin.

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